


The A Team

by robinfan2



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinfan2/pseuds/robinfan2
Summary: Tim's back and in a hurry.





	1. One More Time

Of all the Tim Drakes in the multiverses, he had grown close to four.

Idealistic Tim Drake who became the third Robin when he deduced Batman's identity at thirteen. His father had just died and he currently leads a team of teenaged heroes called the Teen Titans; 

Tatsuo Nori Hideyoshi, a young Japanese warrior who was raised by a ninja whose totem was a bat. He an heir to one of the most powerful daimyos in the 16th century but chose a simple life as a swordsmith’s apprentice after surviving his brother’s attempt on his life; 

Tim Drake, who as a bar owner and bartender Cal Corcoran, defeated the powerful AI, Brother Eye, in the future and saved the post-apocalyptic Batman from enslavement; and

Bad-ass Timothy Drake-Wayne, who as Batman, turned Arkham Asylum into a cemetery of his mentor's rogues.

These Tim Drakes had become his friends. With their collective brain power they escaped Mr Oz’s prison and helped fix the anomalies in their respective universes.

And now, they’re back where they belong. No longer able to be together in one universe at the same time.

Yet, they remain friends.

And they still talk.

In their heads.

See things through each other’s eyes.

Kind of a mind-meld.

Occasional mind-meld. 

Otherwise they’d go cuckoo.

Go figure.

Really.


	2. The Tengu

DAMIAN is frustrated.

Drake is defeating him at every turn. With a katana, no less. A weapon that can rival his own in quality, grace and beauty. And maybe provenance.

Needless to say, Damian al’Ghul Wayne is not happy. Not at all when Drake has disarmed him thrice already in the last thirty minutes.

The grandson of the Demon’s Head and the true son of Batman may have years of experience wielding his sword over his predecessor, but this time Drake has successfully parried, lunged, and manoeuvred him into defence. It’s all Damian can do to keep Drake at bay.

“Yield!” Drake demands when Damian finds himself back on the mat.

“No!” he hisses, baring his teeth, refusing the temptation to free his trapped wrist from Drake’s foot.

“Damian, we’re at this for nearly an hour now. I’ve got to give a briefing before we go on patrol tonight, and I haven’t pulled out all the info we’ll be needing for the drug bust.”

“No!” he declares, stubbornly. Drake has defeated him each and every time but he is not going to give up. Utter defeat would undermine the years of torturous training Damian underwent in the League of Assassins to become worthy of the Batman’s attention.

Drake stares at him, penetrating violet eyes that seem to see through layers of Damian’s pride and sensibilities . An ability that causes Damian much consternation since his adoptive brother came back from the limbo he was abducted to.

“Damian…”

“I will defeat you!” he snarls. “Take your filthy boot off my hand and I’ll show you -“

“If I tell you why you keep on losing, will you yield?”

That hurts. It implies his training is lacking. Imperfect. 

But years spent with his father and his so-called family had taught Damian that the learning never stops. That there’s always someone out there who knows more than you do and it is worthwhile to listen to what they have to say.

When Drake was taken from them months ago, when they believed him killed by the thousands of weaponised drones sent by the Colony, Damian lamented the loss of opportunity to learn from the Red Robin. True, Damian Wayne would always be superior to the other former Robins. But he was always aware of Drake’s abilities and, albeit he’d deny it to his dying breath, he is awed by the older boy’s intelligence and creativity.

He just doesn’t expect Drake to be an expert swordsman as well.

“Damian?”

Drake’s voice brings him to his predicament: on his back on the mats, Drake’s foot on his sword hand preventing him from reaching for his katana. He could manoeuvre out of the pin but that would cost him a broken wrist. Something he can do without for tonight’s planned drug bust.

“Fine!” he snips. Drake promptly lifts his foot and allows the boy to sit up. “Fine,” he repeats as he massages his wrist. He refuses the hand his adoptive brother offers to him and stands to retrieve his katana.

“Damian.”

He does not turn. The humiliation still stings.

“Is it my technique? Have I slowed? What is it, Drake? What is the shortcoming you have identified in me?”

It takes Drake a long moment to reply and when he does, the words that pass his lips are not what Damian expects.

“Your _katana_. May I see it?”

He whirls around, offended that Drake dares fault a weapon bequeathed to him by the daughter of the immortal Ra’s al’Ghul. His katana was forged by a great, ancient swordsmith and has withstood eons of wars and conflicts. 

“Damian.”

He knows he’s testing Drake’s patience. But he wants to know why he keeps on losing.

“Fine.” He walks over to Drake and presents him the hilt. 

Drake takes the sword and examines it. His face remains neutral as he nicks a finger before returning the katana.

“Sheath your sword.”

“No! Our fight is not over -“

“Damian.” 

Drake’s voice is soft and it is a terrible sound.

“Please.”

Damian is desperate for the feedback. He finds Drake irritating but he recognises the older boy’s value. He wipes his sword against his sweats before sheathing it in its scabbard and putting it away. 

“Here. Try this.”

He fails to hide the surprise from his face when Drake hands him the _katana_ he has been using. As Damian examines the workmanship, the graceful pattern on the blade, and the weight on his hands, Drake goes to the armoury. 

“Ready?”

He has been mesmerised by the light glinting off the blade that he does not notice his brother’s back with a practice sword. 

Drake smiles at his admiration of the blade. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He can only nod.

The next quarter hour is a graceful dance of parries, the sword in Damian’s hand singing and laughing sweetly. It feels good in his hands. The movement’s clean, precise. The balance just right. For the first time in his life, he feels joy at wielding a weapon. 

And the spar ends when Drake’s practice sword clatters to the floor. 

They are both sweating. Exhausted. Yet happy.

“How -?”

“That’s a _Masamune_. The one that your mom gave you? A _Muramasa_.”

“I’ve been using my sword for years. Been trained to wield it. It never failed me.”

“Until now.”

“Are you saying your sword is superior to mine?” He can’t help sounding sulky.

Drake rolls his eyes and sighs, “What I’m saying is you are no longer fighting to kill.”

“Drake, you are stating the obvious!”

“Damian, a _Muramasa_ kills indiscriminately. You don’t sheath it unless it has tasted blood. That’s what the League of Assassins taught you. Rightly so because it’s what it’s made for. But you’ve changed your fighting style. Your blows are no longer fatal to your enemy. It no longer fits your intentions.”

He hands over the sword grudgingly. Exquisite. Perfectly forged. Balanced. And rare. It glints sharply, bending light along its sharp edge in the former Robin’s hand. For a second he imagines Drake gone from his sight.

“A _Masamune_ sword kills only when you need to. It does not thirst for blood. It’s perfect for subduing your enemies and defending yourself,” Drake explains as they trudge towards the benches for their towels. Damian sits on the bench and begins unrolling the bandages from his arms while Drake wipes down his _katana._

“How do you know it’s a _Masamune_?” he blurts out, his attempt at hiding his interest failing.

“His name is etched on the blade. One of the few he signed. The old hilt had worn out so my Dad was able to authenticate it. Even when we went bankrupt, he wouldn’t let go of it.”

“Rightly so. It is a good sword,” he acknowledges, venturing an envious glance. “I should ask Father to procure one for me as to befit my new, non-lethal style. It does not bode well if my _katana_ and I are longer of same heart.”

Drake pauses for a moment before sliding the magnificent weapon into its scabbard. The scabbard may look new but the craftsmanship and material are of top quality. _Honoki_ wood and antique ivory etched with dragon motif.

“Here.”

The sheathed sword hovers before his widened eyes. 

_Drake is giving him this?_

“Take it. It’s yours.”

He holds out both hands to receive the precious item, too shocked to do otherwise. Drake smiles tightly before tousling his hair and walking away.

“Make me proud, Robin.”

And just like that, Damian has a new sword.

***

_Kare wa airashidesu!_

“Adorable? You call that adorable? You do know he tried to kill me? Many times?” Tim closes his eyes to better focus on ranting through Tatsuo’s mind. “I don’t know why I let you talked me into giving him that _katana_. He might just end up skewering me with it.”

Tatsuo laughs as he chops coal into precise chunks. Tim is totally amazed at how his 16th century Japanese counterpart cuts those black rocks into perfect square pieces.

_Watashi no yujin, you have just earned your brother’s gratitude and utmost admiration. See how he cradles the katana in his hands. How he values it. No, my friend. In his heart you are now his ani, his brother._

He opens his eyes and sees from the shadowed corner of the Batcave at the almost delicate way Damian has been cleaning the _Masamune_. There’s a slight smile in the boy’s lips and his blue eyes are soft on the blade. 

“So that’s how Damian looks like in love.”

They both laugh. When he sobers up Tim asks, “It will protect him, right? He will be able to use it to defend himself and others?”

Tatsuo is solemn as he stands to brush the cinders from his leather apron. _The Masamune will perform its duty as it is created. Issun saki wa yami._

“It is dark one inch before you?”

_Who can see in the future, Tim-san?_

Then they both hear her sweet voice, calling him to lunch. He feels joy rise within Tatsuo’s heart. An emotion of a lovestruck man.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Tatsuo.”

_Every day, every hour, every minute that she graces me her presence makes my heart sing, Tim-san. Not even the riches and power of the Imperial Throne can equal her smile, laughter and sweet spirit._

Tim then remembers that in all of Tatsuo’s life his mentor had hidden his genealogy. His Sensei withheld the truth that Tatsuo was a true heir of the Hideyoshi warlord clan, which fell to make way to the reign of the Tokugawa shogunate. Tatsuo almost died if not for the Cat Ninja.

“Don’t you ever wonder what would happen if your brother accepted you as your Sensei had asked of him?”

_Such exercise has no value, my friend. My sensei shielded me from the politics and intrigues of the Shogunate and spent his remaining years protecting me, moulding me into the man I am. I felt shame when I was unable to defend him. A shame that was increased a thousandfold when I failed to fulfil his mandate to protect our Lord and not to kill. I then performed seppuku to erase my guilt and to regain my honour._

“Yet, you live.”

_Hai, I live. Beyond all expectations, the Cat Ninja I believed dead was not and she healed and nursed me to health. She made me see that there is no shame in living and that my Sensei would want me to forge my own path. The age of the Daimyos had ended, and with it my vow._

“Your Sensei sounds remarkable.”

_He was the only father I ever knew. I miss him terribly._

“If he’s anything like my Batman, I know he’s proud of you.”

_Arigato gozaimasshita._

They both hear her call again and Tim feels the blush creep up Tatsuo’s cheeks.

_My apologies, Tim-san, but I need to leave. I have made Sakura wait too long._

“Of course, Tatsuo. You shouldn’t keep her waiting,” Tim says, cheekily.

_Anata no shiawase o negatte imasu, ani. I wish you all the happiness you can bear._

“ _Arigato gozaimashita_ , Dragon Good Son. _Sayonara_.”


End file.
